Thursday, 2 July 2009


The courgettes are busy making their own forest while I hide in the shade. They are reaching out to neighbours across the patch, touching hands, making their own little micro climate that shelters the gold of gaping flowers and a place for a froglet to sway on prickly stems.

I water the parched ground with dark dregs from the container. The sunlight has stewed it into a green soup populated by weed, algae and pond life I do not recognize. The frog dives back into it, gulps down into the pale gold of old leaves fraying in the cool depths.

And I go home in the blue hypnotic shadows on the top deck of a bus that seems to stop for no-one as it heads into town.